


A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes

by Novaviis



Series: Watercolour [24]
Category: Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Abandonment, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Neglect, Dick Grayson needs to catch a break, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Past Child Abuse, Romani Dick Grayson, Torch Songs AU, technically anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 01:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17437034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novaviis/pseuds/Novaviis
Summary: Just over a month after  Wally's death, Barbara convinces Dick to come with her and Team Alpha on a mission to track down Psimon at a Classic Film Festival.“I’ve taken care of the Martian Girl already, and truth be told, I would have been far, far away from this little festival by now... if it weren’t for you.” As Psimon spoke, he appeared in the darkness at the corner of the room. Dick slid into a defensive stance, practically baring his teeth at the man. “I felt it through your connection to the Martian... that grief, oh, it was just sodelicious...” Psimon grinned, his mouth unmoving as he spoke into Dick’s mind. “I simply couldn’t leave without having a taste. I have something special in mind for you.”





	A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I told myself I was going to write something a little lighter... but then I wrote this instead. 
> 
> Also, I've mentioned this in the notes of other fics before, but just to clarify; Watercolour!Dick is a quarter Romani as he is in the comics, a quarter English, and half Romanian. There are Romani people in Romania, but Romani and Romanian are, obviously, in no way similar cultural identities. The common mix-up between the two provided a really interesting way to separate them through Dick. There is going to be a more indepth fic about Dick's backstory in the future, but to save confusion, here's the summarized version: Dick was born in Romania, but spent most of his life travelling with his parents in the Circus around the world so he didn't spend much time there aside from off-seasons. When Dick's parents died, he was sent back to Romania because he was not technically an American Citizen. Around this time, from the 90's to the early 2000's, there was a massive adoption crisis in Romania. In 2004, International Adoption was banned in Romania. This would've been right before Bruce managed to adopt him, so it was a bit of a struggle. 
> 
> Normally, I'd leave this sort of thing out for the "drama" of watching the story unfold out of chronological order, but I felt that this was something I needed to set down. If you're curious, I really suggest you look up a few of the documentaries about this on Youtube, they're so incredibly interesting. As always, I tried to approach the topic with respect.

 

Perched atop a high bar, Dick held himself up on one hand. Sweat dripped down from his forehead, slick on his back, soaking into his hair, but still he held the position. With his body held vertical, straight as a rod, he counted each measured breath sucked in through gritted teeth. Finally, when he felt the blood rushing to his heavy head, he angled his body down, swinging around the bar twice, before flipping off and catching the next bar - or at least trying to. His hand was too damp, and he felt his skin rip against the calluses on his palm as he lost his grip and fell. It was only the middle bar, and he tried to land in a roll, but ended up flat on his back on the gym mat with the breath knocked out of his lungs.

Dick groaned, squeezing his eyes shut through the momentary shock, and the ache seeping in to his already overworked body. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he brought his stinging hand up, and opened his eyes to find the skin raw and already starting to bleed. Great. He let his hand flop down against the mat with a frustrated huff, resigning himself to lie there until he found the will to move again.

“Need a hand there, Boy Wonder?”

Despite himself, Dick found himself laughing, subdued and exhausted but still there. That, in itself, was a rare thing these days. Cracking an eye open as a shadow blocked out the hard florescence of the gymnasium, he found Barbara Gordon standing over him with a soft smile, offering her hand down to him.

“Yeah,” Dick flashed her his bloodied palm. “Know where I can find one?”

Barbara rolled her eyes, lightly swatting at his wrist. “Don’t be gross.”

Dick shook his head, opting not to push his luck by taking her hand. He sat upright, rolling with the momentum until he’d risen to his feet (and pointedly ignoring Barbara’s “show-off” eye-roll). Crossing over to the bench in the centre of the room, Dick dropped down and popped the cap off his water bottle. He took a swing, water dribbling down his chin, before setting the bottle down and rooting around in his gym back for a roll of athletic tape. The best aftercare? Probably not, but he couldn’t really find it in him to care. He’d polysporin it later. Opening the roll with his tape, he finally looked up at Barbara as she followed him over to the bench. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked as he began to wrap the tape around his hand.

Couldn’t be Bat-business, so far as he could tell. Barbara would have still been in her suit if she’d just returned from patrol. She was dressed in her civvies; a pair of jeans and a sweater that he’d recalled her complaining she’d left at the Watchtower. So, Team business, so far as he could tell. Once that realization hit, a wave of slight dread came in its wake. She had her own gym bag strung over her shoulder, bulky enough to contain her Batgirl suit. Probably fresh out of the Zetatube.

Barbara, evidently, could see his thought process written all over his face. She shifted under his gaze as it turned slightly critical, adjusting the strap over her shoulder. “Can’t I just be here to visit a friend? Interrupt his work out?”

Dick sighed, dropping his head as he began threading the tape in a crossing pattern between his fingers. “Babs...”

Barbara caved. She let the bag slip off her shoulder, falling to the mat with a heavy thud, as she took a seat beside him on the Bench. “Psimon is in the U.S. Walked straight through Customs and has been making a point of getting in the view of every CCTV and camera he comes across,” she explained. “I’m taking Alpha to find out what he’s up to.”

Dick nodded, but refused to look up from his hand. “Who’s on Alpha?”

“It’ll be me, Gar, Conner, and M’gann,” Barbara braced her hands behind her and leaned back. “And... I was hoping...”

“No,” Dick didn’t let her finish. He ripped off the end of the tape with a sharp tug. “I left the team for a reason, Babs. You know that.”

“And I also know that you’ve been doing shit every since you did,” Barbara snapped. Dick exhaled harshly through his nose. He moved to push up off the bench, to storm out of the gym, but Barbara reached out and grabbed him by the wrist before he could move. She turned his hand over, eyes flitting between the raw skin underneath the untied tape and Dick’s own distant gaze. Dick eased back down onto the bench. Barbara knew a surrender when she saw one. Loosening her grip, she took the tape and began to gently rewrap Dick’s hand. “You need your friends right now, Dick.”

Dick’s hand was placid in her hold. He couldn’t quite bring himself to look up at her, focusing instead on her gentle fingers as they worked. “I left the Team,” he murmured. “I didn’t leave my friends.” The echo of that statement hurt more than it should.

Barbara paused, looking up at him under a quirked brow. “Which would explain why you haven’t spoken to any of them since you left California?”

He met her gaze for only a second before dropping his gaze again.

With a soft sigh, Barbara resumed her task. “I’m not asking you to come back to the Team,” she said. “But seeing your friends might do you some good. Besides,” Barbara tied off the ends of the tape, securing them in place before looking up at him with a wry smile, “if I have to deal with the tension between M’gann and Conner with _Garfield_ as my only neutral party, I may just go insane. So, I’m more-so just asking you as a favour.”

Dick flexed his hand, drawing into his lap. “Alright,” he gave in with a smile just shy of genuine.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Barbara was right, but Dick didn’t say it, because if he did she would absolutely _never_ let him hear the end of it. The mission had brought them to a Classic Film festival in Hollywood, a bright convention centre covered in old school posters, people dressed up as film characters from every era between the 20’s and the 60’s. Dick had started a bet with Gar as soon as they’d arrived to see who could guess how many Charlie Chaplains would be walking the convention floor. Dick had guessed 15. Gar guessed 20. So far, they’d counted 50 people in bowler hats and badly drawn mustaches.

Still, there was a bit of a lingering distance between him and the others, especially Conner and M’gann. They didn’t coddle him, didn’t ask a thousand questions about how he was doing, how he was coping - but every once in a while, he’d catch either of them glancing at him from the corner of their eyes, and the sadness and pity in their gazes made his stomach churn. It hadn’t been two months yet. They didn’t have to ask if he was alright, because they knew that he wasn’t, and Dick _hated_ that.

Glad as he was to see them, he was a little relieved when they decided to split up in search of Psimon. The change of scenery and the otherwise easy companionship was doing him a world of good - again, like Barbara had said - but it felt just as nice to lose himself in the crowds. He’d missed California, too. Missed the sunshine and the heat, and at the very least Hollywood wasn’t bringing back memories that left his chest tight and aching. He hadn’t left Gotham since he’d moved back. The doom and gloom of the East Coast city couldn’t compare.

So, while the others were sweeping the convention floor (although he had seen M’gann gravitating toward that Sandra Stanyon Q&A panel. Off mission, but hey, he wasn’t the leader anymore), Dick wandered the stately building. Thing about Psimon was that he could be anywhere. Dick could be staring straight at him, and with one brush of his mind, Psimon could erase any trace of himself.

 _‘No luck, so far,’_ Dick projected the thought through the Psychic Link. _‘Any leads on your end?’_

Silence. Stopping with a frown on the edge of  the food court, Dick reached for that familiar touch of M’gann in his mind, the link he’d gotten so used to. He felt nothing. _‘M’gann? You there?’_ Again, nothing. Dick cursed under his breath, stepping out of the flow of people into the food court. Pressing his back against a nearby pillar, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. Ordinary at first appearance, of course, but he’d modified it with the same interface as his Holocomp for undercover missions like these. He pulled up a schematic he’d downloaded of the Convention Centre. Barbara had said that Psimon’s disguises didn’t work on camera, and he’d been using that to his advantage to lure them in. If Dick could connect to the security cameras in the building, he could turn that back against him and find out what Psimon was doing to his friends to cut off the link. There was a security room on the third floor, down a service corridor. Bingo.

Getting past Security was no great feat. Under paid guards didn’t give a second glance to a guy who carried himself like he belonged there. He essentially walked right up to the door, picked the lock, and within minutes was inside the dark room, illuminated only by the set of TVs on the wall. Live feeds of every camera in the convention centre played over the screens. Dick locked the door behind him, pushing the rolling chair out of the way as he stood over the control panel. He scanned every single screen, eventually finding Barbara sprinting down a corridor toward the panel room M’gann, Conner, and Gar had headed to. Dick reached up to his ear, finger hovering an inch above the call button in his Comm Link to get in contact with her - he stopped cold.

“Psimon says...” a wretched voice crooned from behind him, “Watch your back.”

Dick spun around, reaching for the collapsed eskrima sticks in his pockets. In one fluid motion, Dick struck out, and for a second he saw Psimon standing clear as anything behind him - in the next, Psimon was gone. Dick’s knuckles went white around his eskrima sticks, the blue light of the taser buzzing faintly at the ends. The stillness of the room was suffocating, and Dick found himself holding his breath just waiting for Psimon to show himself. In a desperate second attempt, he tried to reach out through the gap in his mind where the Psychic Link had been.

 _‘I’ve found Psimon,’_ he hissed into the void. _‘M’gann, do you copy? Conner? Barbara?’_

“Oh, you won’t be reaching your friends like that, young man,” Psimon whispered from beside him.

Dick fought down the sickening shiver, lashing out only to find the glimmer of Psimon’s visage dissipating as his eskrima sticks passed through.

“I’ve taken care of the Martian Girl already, and truth be told, I would have been far, far away from this little festival by now... if it weren’t for you.” As Psimon spoke, he appeared in the darkness at the corner of the room. Dick slid into a defensive stance, practically baring his teeth at the man. “I felt it through your connection to the Martian... that grief, oh, it was just so _delicious_... _”_ Psimon grinned, his mouth unmoving as he spoke into Dick’s mind. “I simply couldn’t leave without having a taste. I have something special _in mind_ for you.”

Dick launched himself forward with a roar, swiping his eskrima sticks at Psimon, only to fall straight through him. Darkness overtook his vision. Disorientation seized his body. Stumbling to recover with the stark revelation that Psimon likely had never been there in person in the first place, Dick shook his head and stood upright.

He stood in the centre of a white washed room. Heart strung high in his throat, Dick spun in a tight circle. The security room was gone, replaced with crumbling walls, rusted wrought iron bed frames, and an acrid stench that burned from his nose down his throat. He knew this place. The familiarity was slow to sink in, but when it did, it came like ice water dripping down his spine. He had no pictures, and only memories clouded with age, but he could never truly forget the Orphanage he’d been sent to in Romania. Abandoned here for no other reason than it was the country on his Birth Certificate, he’d spent eight months here before Bruce had won the legal battle to adopt him. Eight months spent starving, neglected, unwashed, surrounded by children that seldom cried because there was _no point._

Dick went numb from head to toe. This wasn’t real. He _knew_ this wasn’t real, it was an illusion Psimon had dragged up by the hair kicking and screaming from the depths of his memory, but knowing that didn’t make it go away. This was a time in his life he’d felt the most isolated, entirely alone, left behind - Dick took off running.

He threw himself at the doors at the end of the long room, moving on some long buried knowledge of the Orphanage. On the other side of the doors should have been a long hallway leading to similarly derelict rooms, full of despondent children and soiled sheets. There should have been a stairway that lead down to the exit. However, as Dick shouldered his way through the door, stiff on its hinges, he found himself tripping into head office - where he’d been sent for punishment when he misbehaved, where he’d heard the word “Roma” spit at him like a curse. It was empty now, covered in a layer of dust, dark green paint chipping off the walls, but even so Dick could still hear the echoing crack of wood against his skin. The backs of his hands and his spine began to burn with the sting. He pressed his back against the door, shoving himself out into another misplaced room.

The mess hall - where he’d learned to eat what little food he was given quickly before another hungry child tried to take it from him. He’d sat at one of the tables eating off of a dirty plate the day an older boy had come and tried to take his lunch. There’d been all of a millisecond between the boy insulting his parents and Dick lunging over the table and knocking out his front tooth. Dick ran down the crooked rows of tables to the door on the far end. It should have been the kitchen, and the door leading outside to the garden. It wasn’t.

Dick stumbled out into the bleak hallway to the front door -  where he’d stood staring up at a man his social worker had told him was his Grandfather, a man he’d never met in his life, as he told the woman that he did not want him. The man had given him a fifty lie banknote, a pat on the shoulder, and had left without another word of explanation. Dick ran toward the door, open and swaying, like he could chase the memory down and grab it by the fringes, anything but being left alone again. The moment Dick passed through the door, he came tumbling out into the room of empty beds again. He couldn’t catch himself in time, falling hard on his shoulder. His face scraped against the rough wood floor.

This was the room where he’d sat for hours staring out the window, replying the fall over and over. Where he’d woken up in the middle of the night sobbing and screaming for his mother to come and comfort him, only stopping when one of the caretakers came in and threatened to take away his breakfast if he didn’t shut up. Where he’d curled in on himself on frozen nights when his thin blanket wasn’t enough to keep him warm, trying to remember the evenings spent in Nevada around campfires in under the shadow of the Circus tent as if it would bring him the same heat.

Dick howled through a clenched jaw, slamming his fist repeatedly against the wooden floor as his frustration boiled over. Every haunted memory was being twisted back at him, trapping him in a labyrinth of his own pain and that was no escape. Dick pushed himself up on his knees, fighting just to think straight through the panic, hair hanging over his face. Finally lifting his head, his gaze swept the room, desperate for a way out.

It was as he looked over his shoulder that he realized he was not alone anymore.

At the far end of the room, Wally stood staring at him. With a tragic smile, he opened his arms.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

 

With the mental trap overcome, M’gann, Conner, and Garfield slowly calm too, shaking off the lingering effects of the comatose state. Miss Stanyon seemed to bounce back the quickest of all of them, a remarkable feat considering her age (and the fact that she cited her marriage to Johnathan Lord as her resistance to the scary and strange certainly didn’t answer much). It took some convincing from Barbara to get the security guard to leave the matter alone. God knew the last thing they needed was more attention drawn to this.

If one good thing came out of it, at least, it seemed that the tension between M’gann and Conner had completely vanished. M’gann shot Conner a slight smile as the guards escorted Miss Stanyon out of the room, a smile that was returned in full force. Barbara, as she closed the door behind the exiting civilians, caught it plain as day.

“We’re sure that Psimon is gone?” Garfield asked aloud once they were alone.

Barbara shrugged, pulling her phone from out of her pocket. “I haven’t gotten any more pings from the League’s database, not even in the area. Can’t imagine that he’d stay much longer after what he got what he wanted.”

“And what is it, exactly, that he wanted?” Conner asked in a gruff tone. “Was all this really just to try to mess with M’gann?”

“She is his strongest competitor in Psychic Ability,” Barbara replied with a sigh. She pocketed her phone again, leaning back against the long flower box dividing the room. “It is possible he was just planning all of this to try to take her out.”

“Guess there’s nothing better to do in Bialya,” Garfield quipped.

Barbara shook her head, clearly struggling _not_ to laugh at that remark. “In any case,” she said. “We’d better tell Dick.”

Nodding in confirmation, M’gann closed her eyes, focusing on reestablishing the connection between herself and her teammate. ‘ _Nightwing, Psimon escaped. We’re in the green room behind Auditorium A.’_ She sent out the thought on second nature, but it was a line that didn’t catch. There was nothing on the other end to receive it. M’gann frowned, sending Conner, Barbara, and Garfield a troubled glance before re-including them in the Psychic Link. _‘Dick, can you hear me?’_

Coner scowled. _‘Maybe he’s out of range?’_

Shaking her head, M’gann pressed her fingers to her temples. She tried to expand herself, to pick through the crowds until she’d found her friends familiar mind.

Barbara brushed off the silence from the Martian, looking at Conner. _‘He wouldn’t have left the Convention Centre without finding us first.’_

 _‘It is_ Dick _we’re talking about,’_ Conner countered. _‘Vanishing without a word is sort of his thing.’_

 _‘No,’_ M’gann replied, finally dropping her hands onto the table. She stared down at her palms, flexing them against the wood. _‘It’s like I can feel him, just vaguely, but something is blocking...’_ M’gann never finished the thought. Eyes blowing wide, she slammed her hands down on the table and stood up, sending her chair flying backwards with a screech. “We need to find him,” she said aloud. “ _Now._ ”

Instantly on alert, Barbara stood pin-straight. “M’gann, what’s going on?”

“I’m being blocked,” she repeated. “Psimon must have gotten to him. And right now....”

Barbara went pale. Unable to articulate a response, she just nodded, pulling her phone out again, hands trembling. “H-he’s somewhere in the building, but I can’t pin-point his location,” she stammered. “Come on!”

The four heroes ran out of the green room, out into the throng of oblivious festival-goers. The signal on Barbara’s phone to Dick’s, pinging in his location, was getting stronger, but it was a matter of finding the right direction. That was always the problem with old buildings like this- the walls were too thick to get a proper signal through, no matter how advanced your tech was. While Barbara worked on finding Dick’s location, M’gann continued to try to concentrate on getting through to his mind. All she could read through the wall put up between them was _fear_ , and she felt it as if it were her own.

Running through the halls, of the Convention Centre, they called out Dick’s name in the vain hope that he would somehow be able to answer. It was better than nothing, at least, and while the search may have gone faster if they’d gone their separate ways, there was still the slightest possibility that Psimon was still close by - and look at where splitting up had gotten them before. Conner made a point of roughly shoving past a guard politely telling them that the Dick van Dyke panel was in Auditorium C and that they didn’t need to shout. At least, as they rounded the corner toward the Food Court, both M’gann and Barbara skidded to a hault, looking to each other in unison.

“I’ve found him!” they shouted at once. With nothing else to say, and no time to say it, they lead Conner and Garfield up to the Security Room on the third floor.

The door was locked when they arrived. Conner wasted absolutely no time in punching his way through, damning the consequences of their “covert” mission if it meant saving his friend. When the four of them rushed into the room, the sight they were met with was stomach churning. Dick was lying in a heap on the floor, eyes open but unseeing, tears pouring down his cheeks. His entire body was shaking, breath coming in uneven hitches that caught at the back of his throat with a guttural noise.

“Dick!” Barbara cried as she dropped down at his side.

M’gann was quick to follow, kneeling down on the opposite side. “He can’t hear us,” she said gravely. “I... I’ll have to go in.” M’gann looked up at Conner as she said this, her hesitation teetering precariously between fear of destroying his mind like she’d done to Kaldur, and fear of what exactly she would see - she had a fair guess already. Conner only nodded resolutely, placing his hand on her shoulder with a squeeze. Exhaling slowly, M’gann returned the nod before looking back down at her friend. She pressed her fingertips to his temples, and her eyes glowed emerald.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Dick clung to Wally. He ran at him full speed, throwing his arms around him, burying his face into his shoulder and holding on for all that he was worth. That little voice in the back of his mind whispering that this wasn’t real, that he was giving in to an illusion, was growing quieter with every heartbeat. He felt so _real_ , warm and solid, holding him so tenderly - just as he’d remembered. It hadn’t been two months yet, and already Dick found himself overwhelmed with that pang of longing for something that wasn’t there. It was a sensation like passing a mirror in the hallway, and for just a moment, believing it was another person down an unknown corridor. Like giving in, and walking straight through the glass, just to have some company. Dick could have screamed with how clear the memory of him felt.

“Wally,” he choked, barely getting the words out through the tight ache in his throat. “Wally- _fuck_ , I miss you so much,” he sobbed.

“I know, babe,” Wally whispered in his ear. His voice was just the same, not a pitch out of place. “I know, but it’s okay. I’m here now. You don’t have to miss me anymore.” Wally brought his hand up to Dick’s cheek with a feather light touch. When he kissed him, Dick swallowed a broken sob against his mouth, holding Wally tighter. Wally was so loving, just as he’d been on their sweetest nights, petting his finger through Dick’s hair as he pulled back. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

Unthreading himself from Dick’s hold, Wally took his hand and guided him over to the window. He pointed down through the pane, out into the fenced in playground. Dick remembered it as a veritable  hazard zone. He’d tried doing a trick on the monkey bars and nearly brought the whole crumbling structure down. Now, though, it was shinning like new, sturdy as it held up the weight of the boy currently playing on it.

Jason. Dick heart caught in his throat as he watched the boy, thrilled at having mastered a one-handed handstand on the bars. Jason looked up at the window, waving with his free hand, laughing as he stuck his tongue out at Dick. The sound that escaped Dick was stuck somewhere between a laugh and a whimper as he waved back. Wally’s hand smoothed up his back as he watched his parents walk out from below the view of the window. His father was chuckled, clapping as Jason flipped down from the monkey bars and landed on his feet with his arms in the air. Jason grinned, running straight to Dick’s mother, who smiled just as beautiful and brilliant as Dick’s fondest memories could conjure.

Dick stepped up against the window, pressing his palm up against the cool glass. In the reflection, he could see Wally smiled, wrapping his arm around his waist.

“We could stay here, Dick,” he whispered, the warmth of his breath on his ear real as anything. “We could be _happy._ You don’t have to hurt anymore.”

Through the window, Dick watched as his father reached out to ruffle Jason’s hair, the three of them laughing at something the boy had said. His parents then turned to each other, kissing sweetly, before looking up at the window. Dick couldn’t see their faces clearly, but he could feel their eyes on him, and the pull toward them was almost unbearable. Looking up at Wally, he found the same gravitation in his gaze. It would be so easy to just fall into it.

“Dick!”

A blizzard flooded through the building as if the roof had been lifted off and thrown to the wind. Dick flinched away as Wally shifted in front of him, shielding him from the Arctic cold. As soon as the blinding snow had rushed through, it had disappeared without a trace left behind. Dick straightened up, peering around Wally to find M’gann standing in the centre of the room.

He frowned, moving to walk out from behind Wally, only for his boyfriend to shift in front of him again. Wally was _glaring_ at her like he’d never seen before, and the expression didn’t quite sit right on his face. Taking another step to move around him, Dick faced the Martian in confusion. “M’gann?”

M’gann looked rather confused herself first. She took in her surroundings, looking around the room to take in every detail. The heartbreak  on her face when she finally looked back at Dick was past bearing. “Dick,” she said  as she rushed towards him, taking both of his hands in hers. “ _Dick_ , you have to come with me,” she pleaded. “None of this is real.”

The statement, simple as it was, slammed into Dick with the force of a derailed train. He’d almost forgotten. Dick looked back over his shoulder at Wally, at his would-be family out the window, all of them waiting for him. It wasn’t real, but it was the only reality he wanted.

Wally stretched his hand out toward him. “Don’t listen to her, Dick,” he smiled. “You can trust me. Just come with me, and you won’t have to miss any of us ever again.”

M’gann squeezed his hands to the point of pain. “Dick, if you go with him, you will be stuck here, and you will _die_ ,” she urged. Eyes threatening to water, M’gann let go of on of Dick’s hands in favour of cupping his cheek. “I know it hurts... but the real Wally would _never_ ask this of you. He’s not real, Dick. None of this is. You have to come back with me...”

Dick hesitated, and for that fact alone intense shame rocked him to the core. He’d let this go on far too long already. He closed his eyes, leaning his head just slightly into M’gann’s hand. “Just... just get me out of here,” he whispered.

With a solemn nod, M’gann turned toward the door Dick had first tried to run through. She stretched one hand out, eyes glowing as the double doors swung open to reveal nothing but white light on the other side. Tugging lightly on her other hand, still clasped around Dick’s, she guided him toward the light. Dick followed, unable to bear looking back.

That is, until he felt Wally’s hand wrap around his, still hanging dejectedly at his side. There was no pull, no force trying to draw Dick back. Just Wally, his face heavy with fear as he stared back at him. “Please,” Wally begged. “Don’t leave me here.”

Dick nearly broke down all over again. In that moment, M’gann didn’t wait to see if Dick would go with her, or try to stay. She pulled through the door, and into the blinding light.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Dick shot upright with a strangled gasp. M’gann barely had the time to retract her hands before he was bolting up. He was still shaking, even harder now, curling his fingers into his hair at the roots and hunching over himself. The room was entirely silent, watching him like they would  a caged animal, unpredictable and easily frightened. The mindscape seemed so artificial now - everything that had seemed so concrete revealed as illusions compared to the real world of the dark security room. Dick pulled at his scalp, fighting for breath that wouldn’t fill his lungs.

“Hey, hey!” Conner shifted in front of him, the strength of his hands on his shoulders contrasted by the compassion in his eyes. “Take it easy, you-”

Dick shoved Conner’s hands off. “Don’t,” he snapped. He didn’t give himself the time to regret the harshness of his words. Dick pushed himself to his feet, stumbling unsteady toward the end of the room. He braced his forearm against the wall, leaning his forehead against his wrist. Conner easily could have held him down, he realized as an after thought, but he’d backed off immediately when Dick lashed out at him. That was when the guilt hit. His friends, the ones he’d just spent the past month avoiding, had just saved his life. They were only trying to help, and here Dick was, pushing away some of the few people alive that still gave a shit.

He just couldn’t deal with this. He didn’t know how. Everything was fucking falling apart, and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold himself together. Up until now, he’d been convinced he was doing a decent job. One encounter with a Psychic Psycho, and that all came crashing down. The worst part was, even though M’gann didn’t give him the chance to decide... he still didn’t know if he would have stayed or not.

It was several minutes of tense silence before Dick peeled himself away from the wall. Barbara was still kneeling on the floor where they’d found him, staring up at him with tearful eyes. She blamed herself, no doubt. She had no reason to, or at least Dick didn’t blame her, but the regret was visible in the trembling of her lips. “Dick...” she whispered. “I’m so sorry... I -I never should have-”

Dick shook his head, cutting her off with a sharp wave of his hand. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “Let’s just go.”

Without giving the others a chance to respond, Dick walked toward the door, clenching his hand so hard that the scabs on his palm began to bleed again.

**Author's Note:**

> That boy is... not okay. 
> 
>  
> 
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